


Highschool for Assassins

by Silvyia



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, there are lots of ships and stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 13:55:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6054091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silvyia/pseuds/Silvyia





	1. Chapter 1

No kid ever liked school. Not really. This was clearly evident in every student you come across in any school, really, but even more so for the students of Rower High. Though some teenagers had more reason to hate it than others. A long tale why, too long to start at the very beginning. The closest we come to the beginning here, is with a foreign exchange student.

He walked through the halls of the school, following another student who had been tasked in helping him find his way around. They were already two minutes late for class, and it didn't help that the exchange student kept stopping to look at things.

He couldn't help it, though. Where he comes from, things are a lot different. They didn't have these many decorations up on the walls, and they certainly didn't play music over speakers when class began. What was it again?... ah, yes, a "ring tone" as his helpful friend had told him.

Well, 'friend' was an overstatement. The kid leading him to his first class of the day seems to be rather upset with him, as if he were the one to blame for his tardiness.

Probably because he was.

They made their way to the class nevertheless. Their first class of the day; History.

They entered the class, the exchange student trailing behind the more experienced one. Everyone already present looked up at the sound of the door closing shut, teacher included.

"Ah, Ezio, nice of you to join us," the teacher began, clasping his arms behind his back with a faked smile. "finally," he finished.

The kid, Ezio, visibly tensed.

"I'm sorry, sir," the older student spoke with a heavy Italian accent. "I was tasked with leading the new student to his class, and we, err," he looked back, almost as if he were silently begging the child behind him to help him escape this situation. "we, got lost...?" he finished.

The students around the room leaned from their seats trying to glance at the new kid. The teacher stared at the two for a moment as the newest teen shied away behind the much taller student.

"Get in your seat. I won't accept tardiness; you know this, Ezio," the teacher waved his arm, sitting back down in his seat. Ezio relaxed and walked off, away from the younger student. Said student went rigid when realizing his human shield had left him there. He began to follow before a voice stopped him.

"And you, there," the teacher began once more, causing all eyes to focus on him. The student got a good look at him as he turned.

His teacher, looking like a middle-aged man of color, wore nice clothing, yet it didn't strike him as fancy or gussied up. It had a unique formality to it. A simple black turntleneck sweater with a neat dark green overcoat, only a single button was done, down the middle. He couldn't see the man's pants or shoes from where he stood, but he guessed they were just as nice as the rest of his clothing. His eyes were kind, yet strict. As if he could be either a good ally or your worst enemy, there being no in-between.

The man pointed at him, then curled his fingers in as if telling him to 'come here'.

"Come up here and introduce yourself."

The child looked around for a moment, almost scared of how many eyes were on him at that very moment. He walked up to the center of the room slowly.

"Hurry up now, we have a class to get started on," the old teacher snapped impatiently, startling the boy and making him walk faster. He stood in the center, then looked back at the classroom, looking between each pair of eyes slowly, as if sizing them up.

"Now, what's your name?" The teacher asked kindly, looking at the boy and seeing just how destressed and uncomfortable he looked in this position.

The young boy gulped before looking at the teacher, answering his question quietly.

"Connor."


	2. Chapter 2

Everyone in his first class was eager to welcome him, including his History teacher, which he learned was named Achilles Davenport. Connor was right in his original assumption of the man; he was kind and was patient with Connor, even when he stumbled with his english, yet he would snap at anyone who would speak when he was speaking. He was kind, yet stern and strict. Connor also had learned that Achilles was a fair man; if you worked hard, he would let you take a break. Luckily, Connor was a hard working student.

Connor didn't learn any names from his first class. Or, rather, he learned all of them and simply had trouble pairing a face to a name.

Everyone seemed like they were in awe of him. In their history class they had learned all about the Indians and Natives, but never had met one in person. They treated him like a special kid, and a few of them he had learned to stay away from as they laughed at his Native heritage.

So he sat in his newly assigned seat, glaring at a pair of kids who were snickering about the new kid. Class was basically over; they simply had a few minutes of free time before the bell rang.

"Don't let them get to you," he heard a voice whisper behind him. He turned in his seat to find a kid, about his age, looking at him with a bright smile. He had short, messy brown hair, lightly tanned skin, and a small scar over his lip. Connor wondered how he got it.

" 'get to me' ?" Connor repeated in confusion, his accent showing through.

"It means don't let their bad attitude bother you, man. They're just jerks."

"Oh," Connor mumbled. He glanced once more at the two kids who now had their backs turned to him, then put his full attention in the teenager before him. Said teenager held out his hand for Connor to shake, introducing himself.

"My name's Desmond."

"Connor," Connor took the kid's hand in his. He had been taught early on about other culture's customs, as his father was not Native, including how to properly introduce yourself to someone else. The kid snorted.

"Yeah, I know your name." Connor's faced warmed in slight embarrassment. Oh, yeah, he had told everyone his name.

"But, tell me-" the kid began. "Is Connor your birth name?"

Connor shook his head 'no'.

"Thought so. I mean, I kinda know that most Natives have weird, no offense, hard to pronounce names. So what's your real name, then?" He asked in curiosity. Connor thought for a moment before telling him.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton."

Desmond whistled lowly. "Yup. Hard to pronounce."

Connor wanted to retort, to say that english names were hard to pronounce as well, but before he could utter a word, the bell signalling the end of class rang out. The class was a flurry of sudden movement and quiet chatting getting louder as each student got ready to leave, get to their lockers, then to the next class. Connor simply stood up slowly, picking up his single journal and pencil. He had not known what to bring to class in the first place, and as embarrassed as he was about it, Achilles simply waved it off and wrote a list of things to buy for his parents to look over. Connor could already tell he would like his History class more than the rest.

Desmond must have noticed his hesitance to move, and walked up to him, his own backpack strung over his shoulders. Desmond clasped his hand on Connor's back, and when Connor jumped in surprise, he removed his hand before speaking.

"What class do you have next? I can help."

Connor scanned over the students quickly, speaking to his-apparently- new friend. "I have been assigned to another student, though. He is supposed to be helping me."

Connor finally found the student he had been looking for; the one who led him to his first class. He was talking with some other kids; a few boys and a blushing girl. Desmond noticed who he was looking at and shook his head lightly.

"Ezio? Dude, he's got better things to be doing. Trust me, he won't mind me helping you," he explained, smiling. Connor took a moment to think it over, before nodding and following Demond out of the class. Before leaving, however, Desmond talked over his shoulder.

"Bye, Mister Davenport."

"Have a nice day, Desmond," he responded warmly, looking over papers.

Connor breifly looked at the old man hunched over his desk, before following his friend out the door.

"Okay, where's your paper?" Desmond asked when they reached the halls. Connor was confused for a second, before remembering that a woman at the front of the school had given him a paper. He opened his notebook and took the small, neatly folded paper from the first page.

"Hmm," Desmond hummed as he looked over the paper, his walk slowing so he wouldn't run into anybody by mistake. Then, he handed the paper back to Connor, explaining his schedule to him.

"You have a total of three classes with me. First you have your History class with Mister Davenport," Desmond pointed at the door they came from, "then you have World Languages with Mister Ibn-La'Ahad," Connor furrowed his brows in confusion at the name, "and then we both also have English with Mister Kenway at the end of the day together." Desmond was walking backwards, now, while talking to Connor. Connor, however, raised his eyes at the last name.

"Kenway?" He asked.

"Yup. You know him?"

"Which Kenway?"

"Haytham Kenway."

Connor huffed quietly, looking down at the ground.

"He is my father. He is also the reason I had to move here."

Desmond audibly gasped at the news. "Dude! Your Dad is the English teacher?!" He practicly shouted. Connor nodded, looking up at the kid with confusion. In that moment, Desmond stopped walking, forcing Connor to stop as well before he ran into him. He looked at Desmond, surprised. Desmond placed a single hand on his shoulder, ignoring the look of discomfort he got in return, and placed the other hand over his heart, as if he were swearing to a vow.

"Dude," he began. "I feel bad for you."


	3. Chapter 3

Desmond and Connor walked on to their lockers, chatting about Connor's father. Desmond pointed out a few times that Haytham was one of the most strict teachers here, and Connor simply shrugged it off with a quiet "and parent..".

By the time they got to their lockers, which were conveniently placed close to each other, Desmond's locker being number 137 and Connor's locker being number 142, they had two minutes until their next class.

Desmond seemed to have everything about his day burned into memory, as he spinned the dial to his locker with ease, and looked at Connor as they talked and took the correct books and materials out of his locker. Connor, however, was having a hard time getting the locker to open. Desmond had to help him, explaining to him several times about how the dial worked. Connor burned the number into his memory, and made a mental note to practice opening his locker on his own later on.

It was only after Connor finally got his locker open that he realized he didn't know where he was going next.

"Desmond?" Connor asked, finally using the boy's name. Desmond looked over from his own locker, between the heads of other students, and looked at Connor.

"Yeah?" He asked, stuffing a few books into his bag.

"What's my next class?"

Desmond wracked his brain for a moment, remembering Connor's list.

"World Languages. You and I both have this class together, too," he spoke, closing his locker once he checked over his things and made sure he had the right materials.

"Okay," Connor mumbled, closing his locker. He had nothing to grab from his locker, really, he had just wanted to know how it worked.

"C'mon," Desmond walked past him at a quick pace, patting him on his shoulder as he walked by. "Class is about to start. You may not know this yet, but this next teacher is very strict about tardiness. More strict than Mr. Davenport is."

Connor followed Desmond through the halls, trusting his friend to not get them lost. Within the minute, they arrived at an open door, meaning they weren't late just yet, and they both walked in quickly. Desmond went straight to his seat, and Connor walked slower, looking at the seats around him, not knowing which to sit in. Desmond must have noticed, because he placed his bag down at his own desk and walked toward Connor.

"So, everyone here has an assigned seat, except there are a few without names on them right now. You can sit in any of the seats that don't have a name on the desk, 'kay?" Connor nodded, then began walking about the classroom, looking for an empty seat. As he walked, a few students already present looked at him weird, yet he ignore them as he found an empty desk. He sat there quickly, placing his single notebook on the desk, and looked to find how far away from Desmond he was.

Desmond sat two rows in front of him, to his left. Desmond looked back at Connor at that moment, and gave him an encouraging smile and a thumbs-up, though Connor had yet to understand what the hand signal meant. He assumed it meant well, if the smile was anything to go by. Then, a voice interrupted his thoughts.

"And who is this?" An accented voice spoke, right in front of Connor. He nearly jumped out of his seat in surprise and looked up at the man in front of him. He was much older, and Connor assumed he was probably the teacher of this class. How he had snuck up on him without Connor noticing, was beyong him. He usually had very good hearing.

"C-Connor," he mumbled.

"What?" the man asked, placing a single hand on Connor's newest desk, the other on his hip, and leaning down slightly.

"Connor, sir," Connor spoke again, louder. The man seemed to think over something, as he looked at Connor in a curious manner, then straightened his back and walked to the front of the class, speaking as he walked.

"I wasn't told we were getting a new student today. When did you transfer?" Connor watched the man walk up to the desk in the front, noticing how he carried himself with pride and confidence, as if he owned the place.

"A month ago, sir."

"A month? Then why am I only seeing you here, now?"

Connor gulped as he answered. "I got sick when first arriving here, sir, so I stayed home."

"For a month?" The man was now standing behind the front desk, picking something up from his desk and turning to the giant black board on the front wall.

"Yes, sir. I'm not used to this weather."

"You are foreign?"

"Yes, sir." The man talking to him began writing something on the board in large, yet neat letters.

"As am I." with that, the man turned around on his heel and looked at Connor. "My name is Altair Ibn-La'Ahad, I am your World Languages teacher," Connor heard a few giggles behind him, but he refrained from breaking eye contact with his teacher, now known as Ibn-La'Ahad. "The only rules that I ask of you are to not be late, don't interrupt me when I'm talking, and show respect to everyone in this class. Understood?" Connor's mind reeled. Desmond had made the teacher out to be a bad, or at least very mean, teacher, and yet he only had three simple rules? Rules that Connor was used to following already. It was common courtesy where he came from.

"Yes, sir," Connor answered. Ibn-La'Ahad nodded his head in approval before sitting in his seat. He was quiet for just a moment, and Connor took that time to finally look around for the source of the giggling from before. He found it, when looking at a group of girls sitting behind him.

They were sighing dreamily and looking at the teacher, and Connor grimaced when realizing they were fantasizing about their mentor. How gross. Yet, as Connor looked on, he realized that a single girl from the group was not, in fact, looking at the teacher. As he made eye contact, he recognized that she was looking directly at him.

He prolonged the eye contact, not really understanding what to do. Why was she looking at him?

She was short, shorter than Connor for sure, had dark black hair and bright blue eyes, small dots of metal on her nose and ears that Connor recognized as 'piercings', and Connor was at a loss for words. The girl smiled shyly at him, and looked down at her book, still smiling. Connor continued to look at her quietly as her friend beside her poked her and said something that made her face redden and send a glare to her friend.

"Connor," Connor heard a voice call. He flinched, then turned to look at his teacher, standing at the front of the class with his hands crossed.

"Yes, sir?"

"You weren't paying attention."

"I-" before Connor could respond, the teacher spoke again.

"You will stay five minutes after class to make up for it."

As the class errupted in fits of giggles and pointing fingers at Connor for getting in trouble on his first day, he simply sent a small glare at the girl behind him, blaming her for his detention.

"Yes, sir."


End file.
